Grief: Volume 1 of ... hell if I know. Will it ever end? (Spoiler: Probably not)

Last fall my mother passed away.

I like to say “passed away” instead of “died” because it seems less permanent and easier to handle. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference, really, but the mind does a lot of emotional gymnastics during times of intense grief in an effort to cope.

She passed after an 11 month battle with metastatic pancreatic cancer. It was somehow both the most beautiful and terrible experience of my life, and I’ll try to articulate how that can possibly be in these posts. These posts won’t be about detailing her illness, but rather about the emotional process I went through as a loved one. The grieving process is unique for everyone, but I found myself yearning to talk to others who had gone through a similar experience.

I wanted to feel less alone.

I wanted reassurance that I could actually survive this amount of emotional pain.

I wanted the camaraderie of others who know what’s it’s like to wish they WOULDN’T survive this amount of emotional pain.

It’s a shitty club to be in - having experience in losing a parent. But now that I’m a member, if my journey can help someone else feel comforted through the process, I’m all in.

I kept a journal while my mom was ill as a place to unload my emotions, sort out my thoughts, and put all that pain on paper in hopes I may find something positive in it someday.

It’s a mix of observations, realizations, and unanswered questions. I don’t know how cohesive all these thoughts will be, and they’re certainly in no particular order, but this is what I’ve got for Volume 1.

Care for others in times of despair - It may seem counter-intuitive to take on additional tasks when you’re already emotionally drowning, but I found helping others channeled my energy into something positive. Perhaps there’s a struggling family or friend who could use a home-cooked meal. Maybe now is a good time to bring a load of belongings to a local shelter for donation. There could be a GoFundMe for a cause that speaks to you. Or just do a random act of kindness and pay for someone’s coffee at the drive-thru. Whatever it is, go for it.

I don’t think this is the time to sign up for major commitments like a volunteer position requiring set hours every week, but individual actions to help others? It helps YOU, too. I don’t know if it’s the escapism of focusing on someone else and their struggles for a while, or just the power of positivity, but whatever it is? It works.
Nights are hard. Really hard. - During the day you can distract yourself with work, caring for your family, and with the general hustle and bustle of life that somehow goes on against all odds. But at night you’re left with the quiet of your own thoughts, and for me? Disaster. Utter emotional breakdowns almost like clockwork, right around 10 pm and lasting until I eventually passed out.

It’s useful to recognize this pattern and work with it.
There may be some nights where it’s cathartic to let it all out, but you have to sleep at SOME point. (and looking like a punching bag in the morning doesn’t do much to boost your mood.)

I’m usually a night shower girl, so keeping my brain occupied there was key. Podcasts, music, anything to drown out the silence that would otherwise let my thoughts creep in and drown me. A sound machine in your room may also be useful.

Although I normally maintained a no-technology rule in the bedroom, I got in the habit of scrolling Facebook or Instagram while in bed. It’s a terrible habit, and I know the blue light is a no-no for good sleep hygiene, but the distraction was invaluable.

Find that friend or family member you can call at 1 am to talk you off the proverbial ledge. They’re out there.

Although it seems hippy-dippy, a rose quartz under my pillow helped immensely and gave me much-needed restful sleep. Pro tip: get a tumbled rose quartz with smooth edges, because when that sucker migrates out of your pillowcase, a raw variety will stab you and ruin your restful slumber. It became like a security blanket for me and I would hold it through the pillowcase while I prayed and tried to sleep.
Mornings suck too. Did you think this post would be entirely uplifting? Sorry! - I found I would wake and in those sleepy, hazy moments before I reached full consciousness, I would forget my mom was sick/had passed. So much of my life felt like a nightmare during that time, it seemed possible it WAS just a dream. But inevitably the reality would come flooding back and it felt like being punched in the stomach. Every. Single. Morning.

Having something beautiful or positive to look at first thing in the morning helped a little. Fresh flowers on the nightstand, a treasured photograph, anything to spark a little joy while trying to catch my breath after the morning gut-punch.
Express your grief on your own terms - Some people really react emotionally in the moment, others tend to be more stoic but break down later. I’m definitely the latter.

I don’t know if it’s my medical training, but I’m very good in a crisis. I can react appropriately, do what needs to be done, care for the ailing person myself when able or interact with medical staff in a professional manner. I’m organized, practical, and calm. Although these are all very useful traits, it can read as TOO stoic to others, and may come across as uncaring.

That is not my concern.

If you too behave this way, and a loved one who is also going through this process questions you about it and expresses concern that you’re being too stoic, explain. Share that it’s your process, and it may differ from their process. You certainly feel ALL the emotions (every. damn. one.) but you do it in the privacy of your home when you’re ready. And leave it at that.
Seriously.

It is not your job to change how you grieve to fit the mold of what others think is “right” or “normal.” Explain yourself once as needed, and that’s the end of that story. You do you. Because trying to get through this in any way other than what comes naturally to you will only make it that much harder.
Lastly for this post…
Hope and realistic expectations aren’t mutually exclusive - This is more relevant during an illness, and I really wrestled with it. I knew the reality of what my mom faced, and with each passing health crisis I understood what it meant in the big picture of her potential for recovery. I’m not sure if that was a blessing or a curse to have that medical background and see the odds of survival dwindling before my eyes.

Because although I wanted to know the truth to help prepare myself and other loved ones, I also wanted hope. I NEEDED that hope. Maybe she would rally. Maybe she’d be in the 5% who beat the odds. Maybe there would be divine intervention.

As time went on the hope evolved. Maybe she’d pass painlessly and in peace. Maybe she’d be welcomed into the loving arms of past loved ones. Maybe she’d get to eat ice cream out of Mario Lopez’s dimples in heaven. (For reals, she often joked that would be her idea of heaven!)

Point being, it’s ok to be realistic about the situation AND hope for miracles and wondrous outcomes at the same time. We’re spiritual beings having a human experience on this planet, and our spirit knows anything is possible. This isn’t delusion - it’s just acknowledging we don’t know the grand plan, so no harm in hoping for a beautiful outcome.

Stay tuned for Volume 2, know you’re not alone, and hang on to that hope.

And if you’re really struggling, go look at pictures of Mario Lopez’s dimples. If that doesn’t renew your faith in a higher power who obviously loves us, I don’t know what will.